


A Lonely Thanksgiving

by SmolMomo



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: A poor Stan being alone during Thanksgiving, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mullet Grunkle Stan, Suicidal Thoughts, but it gets better at the end i think, this is really angsty im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 17:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13299363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmolMomo/pseuds/SmolMomo
Summary: Thanksgiving used to be Stanley Pines' favorite holiday, but after six years of living on his own, it's become the hardest day for him to get through. A short little one-shot I wrote just for fun. TW: Mentions of suicide





	A Lonely Thanksgiving

**Author's Note:**

> Hi so I wrote this at like 3 in the morning and I figured I should post it because why not. I love seeing Stan sad and in pain.

_What are you even doing anymore Stanley?_

It was around eight o’clock on a cloudy, unpleasant autumn day. A twenty-three-year-old man sat in the front seat of an El Diablo, parked in the lot of an empty 7/11. The car was off, filling the inside of the car with no sound except for the distant chittering of the locusts outside. The man had a look to his face that screamed disparage, as if unable to summon the will to move a single muscle.

He was having a particularly rough night for an assortment of reasons. It was Thanksgiving; Stanley’s favorite holiday. Most of the bars and shops were closed today, leaving Stan with very little to distract him from how miserable he felt. Everyone was with their families, eating turkey and arguing about politics, while Stan sat in his car all day with no turkey and no family.

He should’ve been used to having no one to spend Thanksgiving with at this point, Stan scolded himself. After all, it had been roughly six years since he was kicked out of his home. Yet, Thanksgiving was always the hardest day for him to get past. It wasn’t Hannukah or Halloween, or even his birthday. Thanksgiving had always been a special day for his family, and it was bitterly missed.

It was Stan’s fault that he wasn’t celebrating Thanksgiving with his family. If he hadn’t been so stupid and ruined his relationship with his family, things would have been so much different. He would be sleeping in a nice, comfy bed, stomach round with his Mom’s stuffed turkey and gravy. He would be buzzing with excitement after seeing his brother when he came back from university for the holidays, laughing as they ribbed each other like he had never left. His empty stomach growled in response, snapping him back to his depressing reality.

These thoughts grew too painful for Stan to continue thinking about, so he blocked them out altogether. With nothing to occupy his thoughts, they gradually shifted to self-deprecation. He just couldn’t give himself a break, could he?

Ha. Like he deserved a break…..

He was a nobody. That was undebatable and Stanley knew that full well. As he stared aimlessly at his chipped steering wheel, all he felt was a numbness that consumed everything but his thoughts. That cutting inner voice that only arrived in his lowest points returned, almost echoing through his head.

_You’re a mistake. The extra. The twin who would’ve been better off dying in the womb._

This was also nothing new to Stanley. Even before he had been thrown out of his home, he had believed this. His brother had been the smart one; the one his parents were proud of. He was meant for something great. What was Stan meant for? 

Nothing. The answer was nothing. Stan gave a dark sigh as he gave a slight glance over to the passenger’s seat, which held his companion; a .38 snub-nosed revolver. He had won that gun roughly a year before in a poker match. It was a beautiful gun, only fired once. It was like winning the lottery when he had gotten it. He almost smiled at the fond memory, before he remembered how he had cheated mercilessly in that game and was quickly whisked back to his depression. The one thing he had been proud to own, he didn’t even come by honestly. 

_You’re a hack. A liar. A swindler. All you’ve ever done is lie, cheat, and steal your way through life. And look where that’s got you. Celebrating Thanksgiving alone in your car with not a single person in your life who’d bat an eye if you died._

_Maybe you should._

Stan cringed at his inner voice, steadying his shaking hands as he slumped back against the seat. He tried hopelessly to find some way of combating the dark thoughts that were circling him, but he was too tired to even try. It was as if he didn’t even care anymore.

He had ruined his brother’s life. He had squandered the chance for his family to have a better life. He couldn’t even go home for the holidays or draw up enough courage to call his brother. He was nearing twenty-four and didn’t have one thing to show for his years of salesmanship and con-artistry. He was useless.

_Just think about it. You could do the entire world a favor by wiping yourself off the map. It would be easy Stanley. So, so easy._

He glanced again at the revolver in the seat next to him, prolonging the stare longer this time. As much as he desperately wanted to prove himself wrong, the voice was right. 

He quickly tore his eyes away from the gun and fumbled through the pockets of his jacket, shakingly pulling out a loose cigarette and lighting it with his dented Zippo lighter. He had stolen that too, he reminded himself as he took a long, nervous drag. The smoke from the cigarette filled the front of the car, as the windows were still rolled up and it had nowhere to escape. Stan coughed roughly as he accidentally breathed in the smoke, causing his throat to burn harshly. 

Once he was finished, he snuffed the butt with the heel of his shoe and attempted to wave the smoke to the back seat with little avail. Although the cigarette was a welcome distraction, the sight of his revolver kept looming in the side of his vision, almost urging him to use it.

“No…” He whispered to himself, tearing his eyes away from it once more.

_You’re a mistake, Stanley._ The voice repeated. _A massive mistake that’d be better off dead. Can’t you see?_

His hands were suddenly clasped at the sides of his head, his eyes pinched shut as he desperately tried to shut his brain up.

_A worthless fucking mistake who can’t even get a job because of your criminal record. That’s you. That’s what you are._

He should’ve never been born. Ford should’ve been an only child. He didn’t deserve a lowlife like him for a brother in a million years. All he had ever done was hinder him. Stopped him from becoming something great. He drew his knees up to his face and squeezed himself close together, feeling his eyes watering. No. Real men don’t cry. That’s what his father always said.

_Just accept it, Stanley. It would be better if you were never born._

Stan nodded to himself as if agreeing with the voice’s words. The voice was right. He could finally do something worthwhile and fix a mistake. A terrible, horrible mistake. Himself.

Saltwater dripped down the side of Stan’s face as he gave a strangled noise of grief and frustration, snatching the revolver from the seat next to him and impulsively shoving it against his head. He cocked the gun almost as quickly as he picked it up and glued his eyes shut as he pulled the trigger.

Click.

Stan’s eyes flew open in confusion as he lowered the gun, opening the cylinder and realizing that the gun was empty. All six chambers were void of any bullet.

Of course, he had sold them several days before for gas money. 

At the realization of what he had just tried to do, Stan collapsed into a fit of sobs, crying ugly into his thighs. The revolver dropped to the car floor with a thud as he wept. He stayed in that exact spot for what seemed like hours, crying until he couldn’t anymore. Emotionally exhausted, he eventually fell asleep where he sat, eyes raw and swollen.

XXX

Just outside, a stereotypical family-man wearing a nice suit was taking the trash out of his nearby home. He spotted a lone car parked by the 7/11 he lived next to and saw the lone figure of a rather homely looking man curled up miserably in the front seat of an old car. He stared sympathetically at the man for a moment, before tossing the trash into the bin and making his way inside his home.

A large, joyful family was seated around their dining room table, laughing and talking about many different topics. His wife was cleaning up the leftovers, of which there were many. He beamed with pride. She had really outdone herself this year.

The homeless man just outside still lingered in his thoughts, causing him to frown uneasily. He wouldn’t be able to enjoy the rest of the night soundly if he didn’t do something to help the man. He looked as though he didn’t have anyone to celebrate the holidays with, which put a heavy weight on his heart.

“Honey?” He called out to his wife, who was placing the leftovers in their fridge.

“Yes?” She gave the man a sweet smile.

“Do you think you could make a large plate of food for me to give a man outside?”

“Of course.” She proceeded to fill up a large plate with turkey and other foods. “Always the good samaritan aren’t you?”

“I guess so.” The man laughed, taking the plate and making his way outside.

He carried the heaping plate over to the car, trying to think about how he wanted to deliver the food to the man. He decided he shouldn’t give it straight to him, in the case that he denied the act of generosity. He decided on leaving the food on the hood of the car and gently knocking on the door, sprinting away as the man began to stir.

Stanley heard a knock on his door and snapped awake, eyes darting around to see what had made the noise. After a few seconds of looking, he noticed a strange object on the hood of his car. Curious, he stepped out to see what it was.

His heart welled up when he saw a plate overflowing with the most delicious looking Thanksgiving meal he’d ever seen, still warm. He looked around for the person who left this, feeling uncomfortable for taking this food. He was never one who enjoyed charity.

He faltered, however, seeing nobody around, and hesitantly accepted the gift when his stomach growled hungrily again. He took the plate back in his car and ate ravenously. It was the best meal he’d had in years, he thought to himself. As he finished, he placed the empty plate on his dashboard and reclined contently, giving a small grin as he thought about the unknown person.

Maybe he was wrong after all. Maybe someone really did care about him, even if they were a total stranger.

It was stupid, but this thought made Stan feel better than he had been in a long time. He fell back asleep, belly full of food, and dreamt of a Thanksgiving with his family, smiling happily as he slept.


End file.
